


Carving Out Our Names

by addictedkitten



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-08
Updated: 2009-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/addictedkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to Maryland is paved with good intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carving Out Our Names

Two days after graduation, Ryan helps Brendon pack the last of his earthly possessions. It takes half an hour; since leaving his parents' house, Brendon's pared down his necessities to what would fit into his studio. "I have the band," Brendon says, seeming to find pep somewhere in him, calling it up despite the shadows beneath his eyes. He passes over one last free smoothie, leaving the fridge as empty as the rest of the apartment. "Who needs material goods?"

Ryan grabs his wrist and tugs him down to sit on the now bare futon. "You need to sleep," he says. Brendon sways a little, and Ryan steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, pulling Brendon in, letting Brendon fall the rest of the way, his shoulder softly colliding with Ryan's side. He tucks his head into the curve of Ryan's neck, and Ryan tries not to move, tries not to react to the warmth of Brendon's exhaled breath, the brush of his nose against Ryan's throat. "We have a long drive tomorrow."

"Yeah," Brendon murmurs. "Miles to go."

Ryan swallows, knowing that Brendon can feel the movement of it. "Lie down, okay? I'll get the lights." He doesn't let himself think about before he kisses Brendon's forehead; it's more of a comfort thing, anyway, nothing Brendon could misinterpret. Ryan gently pushes Brendon away, and doesn't look at his face as he stands. He hears Brendon shuffling out of his pants, hitting the pillow to fluff it up before settling down. His hand lingers on the light switch before smoothing downward, clicking the light off. This is nothing they haven't done before, shared Brendon's small red futon. It's not nervousness Ryan's feeling, and he wonders what it is, if not that. When he turns back around, Brendon's curled up on his side, looking even younger in sleep. They won't have a reason to share a bed again, he realizes. In Maryland they'll have bunks of their own, and they won't be running from anyone. 

Ryan slips his jeans off and crawls over Brendon, settling between him and the wall. He watches the rise and fall of Brendon's shoulders, and thinks of how his hand would look against the blue of Brendon's t-shirt, how Brendon's back would feel against the palm of his hand. 

"Ryan," Brendon breathes, and Ryan lets himself touch, laying his palm lightly against Brendon's shoulder blade in acknowledgement. Brendon shudders in a breath, and Ryan feels it. "Thanks for staying here tonight."

"You're welcome," Ryan says, and closes his eyes, and keeps his hand where it is, and doesn't say, _thank you for letting me._

*

Matt picks them up in the morning, when the sun is barely peeking over the mountains. "I produce, I drive, I bring Starbucks," he says, and hands Ryan a bag of cinnamon scones and Brendon two coffees. 

"You're a good man, Matt Squire," Brendon says fervently, nuzzling one of the cardboard cups, his eyes slipping shut at the warmth. Ryan breaks off a piece of scone, popping it in Brendon's mouth when Brendon opens hopefully. 

"Yeah, thanks, man," Ryan says, snagging one of the coffees, ignoring the wounded noise that Brendon makes. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Brendon's neediness, and Brendon pouts back, his eyes orphaned-puppy huge, a scone crumb clinging to his lower lip. Ryan flushes and chooses to attribute it to the early morning heat. He reaches up to brush away the crumb and Brendon nips sleepily at his finger. "Down, boy," he says, tapping Brendon's nose. 

They pile into the back of the van, only to pile back out when they get to Spencer's house and get pulled into a Smith family hugathon with Ginger insisting to Spencer, then Brendon, then Matt, that they all make sure Ryan _eats_ , because she really doesn't like how skinny he's getting, and listen to her because she's a doctor. Spencer rolls his eyes but says he will, and then Brendon says he will too, and Matt pipes in that he'll make sure they eat more than just chips and cereal. 

"There are other foods?" Brendon asks, wrinkling his nose, then ducks away, grinning, when Ginger shakes her head at him. They all exchange hugs, and then it's off to Brent's for another family display, and then finally they're on the 15, heading north. Brent gets up front with Matt driving, and Spencer and Ryan share the middle seat, leaving Brendon stuck in the back, stretching his seat belt as far as it'll go so he can rest his head on the back of the seat and talk to Spencer and Ryan. Spencer eventually sets his palm against Brendon's face and pushes him back to his own seat, then folds his arms and leans his head against the window, telling them to wake him in time for lunch.

Brendon gives Ryan a terrifically pathetic look, and Ryan folds like a house of cards when Brendon smiles and nudges his knuckles invitingly against the empty seat next to him. Matt glances in the rearview mirror at the click of the seatbelt, and Ryan scrambles into the backseat with Brendon, tumbling against Brendon when they round a curve. "Easy there," Brendon says, low and warm as he steadies Ryan, and Ryan huffs out a breath and lets Brendon pull him into the middle seat. 

"My personal space," Ryan mutters, squirming as Brendon pushes his nose against Ryan's temple and sighs.

"Mm-hmm," Brendon murmurs, in an attempt to placate him that Ryan wouldn't even generously qualify as half-assed. Brendon slouches down and leans his head against Ryan's shoulder, always more apt to be affectionate with people around. It's easier to take it innocently that way, Ryan thinks, meaningless friendly affection that no one would reject because it's just Brendon being Brendon. He's never seen Brendon with a girlfriend, and he wonders how much different it is, if it's the same but with kisses, or if that's something Brendon would want to keep behind closed doors. Brendon can make sex jokes with the best of them but he's not the type to kiss and tell, so far as Ryan's noticed. But then, maybe that's because Brendon doesn't kiss people as often as Ryan does.

Brendon's knuckles brush against the side of Ryan's leg, and Ryan thinks about Brendon putting his hand there, a warm weight on his thigh, comforting. Meaningless. Brendon's a pleasant sleepy presence against his side, and Ryan could push him away, he could. 

Instead, he lets Brendon sleep.

*

By the time they pull up at a convenience store, Spencer's awake and there's no avoiding the look he shoots at Ryan in the backseat. Ryan tries to shrug without jostling Brendon, but Brendon must feel the stop in motion, because he mumbles something unintelligible, then snuffles against Ryan's shoulder before blinking slowly awake. 

"Have a good cuddle?" Spencer asks him, eyebrow raised.

Brendon shakes the last of his sleepiness off and beams at Spencer. "Yes," he says.

Ryan flees the car.

*

Spencer appears like a phantom at the end of the candy aisle, his arms folded. 

"What?" Ryan asks, too quickly. 

Spencer narrows his eyes.

"Nothing!" Ryan says, throwing his hands in the air.

"Candy!" says Brendon, appearing behind Ryan. 

Ryan smacks the Twix he'd grabbed for Brendon against Brendon's chest, and retreats to the chip aisle.

*

Brent driving means screamo on the stereo and taking curves a little too fast for Ryan's liking. Brendon sits in the back, playing his ancient Gameboy next to Spencer, who's reading Rolling Stone and occasionally looking out the window. Ryan sits in the middle seat alone staring at an empty page in his notebook. Eventually he gives up trying to think of lyrics and just draws swirls and stars in the margins and a vampire that looks sort of like Brendon. 

Something pokes him in the back of the neck, and he turns to see Brendon holding out a Twix for him, the other one in his mouth. Ryan smiles and takes it, and Brendon smiles back. Although Spencer doesn't move, Ryan knows he sees it. He wonders how it looks from the outside.

*

When they stop at a rest stop to stretch their legs and switch drivers, Ryan comes back to find Brendon in the passenger seat. "I brought up your CDs," Brendon says, smiling and handing over the CD jacket. Their fingers brush when Ryan takes it, and Brendon smiles, and Ryan's shot through with misery so suddenly and intensely that he knows it can't help but show on his face; how fucking stupid is he to even notice these things when it's just Brendon being Brendon, when it's nothing but friendliness?

"Are these the wrong CDs?" Brendon asks, confused.

"No, no," Ryan says quickly, "They're fine, sorry."

Brendon lays a hand on his shoulder, easy as anything, stroking his thumb over the edge of Ryan's collarbone. "Are you okay? I can drive for now if you want."

"No, I'm fine." Ryan summons up a smile. 

Brendon frowns. "You can tell me if you're not. We can talk about stuff."

The van door slides open, and Matt climbs in, followed by Brent and Spencer. Brendon squeezes Ryan's shoulder and lets go. 

"We good to go?" Matt asks. "Just drive until you get tired, and then we'll find a motel."

Ryan nods. He feels Brendon looking at him, but doesn't look back.

*

With nothing to stare at but the horizon, it's easy for Ryan's mind to drift. It's getting darker out, the sun setting behind the mountains, and Brendon selected one of the slower mixes Ryan made in anticipation of the trip. When Ryan glances over at Brendon, Brendon's looking out the window, his chin resting on his fist. 

It's not so rare, seeing Brendon in repose; Ryan spends enough time with him that he's seen Brendon in just about every mood he has, from hyped up on caffeine to tired enough to pass out. He spent the first month of their acquaintance half-convinced Brendon had some kind of crush on him, until it became apparent that Brendon just had that way about him, that he was just a _lot_ , that sometimes his enthusiasm spilled over into what would have been flirtation from anyone else. With Brendon, easy affection and a disregard for personal space just meant he trusted somebody. They'd worked together closely enough that Ryan figured Brendon just trusted him the most, if that was really what it was. If Ryan knew Brendon as well as he thought he did. 

He couldn't remember when he'd stopped questioning Brendon's affection and started accepting it, then started wanting it. It wasn't a crush. He knew what crushes felt like, that low pull in his stomach, that need to have someone, that particular strain of want that was only satisfied by touching, kissing, fucking someone. 

He doesn't know what it is he feels for Brendon, and that's new. Ryan's used to understanding himself better than this. If it were anyone else, anyone who wasn't in his band, holding his success in the palm of his hand, he would risk finding out what it could be. But it's Brendon. 

Ryan shakes his head at himself, and the motion must catch Brendon's attention. He looks over at Ryan, cocking his head. "You alright, Ross?" he asks.

"Yeah, um." Ryan rubs the back of his neck, improvising. "My neck's starting to hurt a little. It's fine."

"Start looking out for a motel," Brendon advises. "You've been driving for awhile." He reaches over like it's nothing, and Ryan startles a little when he cups the back of Ryan's neck, squeezing and then starting to lightly massage there. The presence of Brendon's hand is enough to make warmth melt down through Ryan's nerves, through his spine and shoulders and chest, and it feels so good that Ryan wants to moan aloud. Instead he tenses, and Brendon presses harder, working the stiffness out with his fingers, digging his fingertips into Ryan's skin over and over until Ryan wants to shake apart. "Does it feel any better?" Brendon asks, his voice soft. 

Ryan nods, licking his lips and trying not to glance over at Brendon, not sure he could take feeling this and looking at Brendon at the same time.

"Good," Brendon says. He doesn't move his hand away.

*

They pull up to a motel just past the Kansas border, after just a bit too long looking for one. By the time they get out they're all past ready for sleep, and Spencer and Brent have subsided into crabby silence. They lean against the car, yawning, while Matt handles getting the rooms. 

Ryan's gazing off into the distance, contemplating life in a crappy Kansas border town, when Matt pops his head out the lobby door. "Good news," he says. "There's continental breakfast in the morning." Brendon pumps his fist in the air. "But they only have doubles, no singles. Would two of you mind sharing, or do you want to spring for another double room."

"Ryan and I can share," Spencer says. "Just get me something cushioned to fall on." 

Matt nods and disappears back into the lobby. Ryan looks over at Brendon, and Brendon's already looking at him. 

"You cool with that, Ry?" Spencer asks. 

"Sure," Ryan says, looking back at Spencer. 

"And you were getting on my case about being Ryan's cuddle buddy, I see how it is, Spence," Brendon says lightly. 

"Are you kidding?" Spencer scoffs. "Good luck cuddling that one, he's all bones."

"So you're saying I should cuddle you instead," Brendon says, and moves in for an attack, his hands in claws of impending cuddle doom.

"What are you implying?" Spencer demands, outraged, and fends off Brendon's attempt to hug him around the middle.

"That I love you," Brendon says, switching to trying to kiss Spencer on the cheek as Spencer tries desperately to dodge his lips.

Brent says, "I'm rooming with Matt."

"Okay, that's enough," Ryan says, and gets a fistful of the back of Brendon's shirt, tugging him away as Brendon yelps and stumbles back into him. He slips his arms around Brendon's waist to help keep him upright, and Brendon looks up at him over his shoulder, batting his eyelashes.

"My hero," Brendon coos. Ryan tells himself to let go, but his hands refuse to listen.

"Love is fleeting," Spencer laments.

*

When they get into the motel room, Spencer tosses his stuff onto a bed and then promptly joins it, spreading out like a starfish and then flinging an arm over his eyes to block the light.

"It is way too early in the night to be hogging the bed, dude," Ryan says, nudging his knee against Spencer's foot as Brendon leaps for the bathroom, pulling the door shut loudly behind him. 

Spencer peers at him from under his arm. "Wouldn't you rather sleep with Brendon?"

Ryan pauses, not having expected such a straightforward question. "I don't want to play favorites," he hedges.

"For the love of _god_ ," Spencer says. "I'm making an executive decision. You and Brendon are sharing, and I'm sleeping in the exact middle of this bed all night long."

"Spencer," Ryan says desperately.

"You wanna talk about it?" Spencer asks.

"No," Ryan admits.

"Talk about what?" Brendon asks, emerging from the bathroom. 

Spencer says, "Ryan's love for you."

Ryan's heart drops to somewhere just south of his navel, but Brendon just smiles at him, soft and sweet enough to make Ryan's stomach hurt a little. "I love you too, Ryan," he says, and pulls Ryan into a hug. Ryan helplessly returns it, burying his face in Brendon's neck and holding on tight.

"This is so touching," Spencer says. "Let's all go to bed now and sleep for ten hours."

Instead of letting Ryan go, Brendon just walks them both over to the empty bed until the backs of Ryan's knees hit it and he tumbles down, bouncing a little. 

Spencer turns onto his side, watching with interest. 

"Sleep with me instead," Brendon says.

Dumbfounded, Ryan says, "Okay."

"Sweet," says Brendon.

Ryan looks over at Spencer, who's already closed his eyes again, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Brendon's already stripping his shirt off, getting down to his boxers as Ryan sits on the edge of the bed, watching him undress. 

"It's hot in here," Brendon says, shrugging. He climbs into the bed, tugging the covers back and slipping between them as Ryan stands and follows his lead. Spencer's wiggling out of his clothes without bothering to get up, but Ryan takes his time, making sure his clothes are folded, or as someone else might put it, stalling. He's debating whether to join the half-naked party or keep his shirt on like a gentleman when Spencer snaps the light off, casting the room in darkness. 

"Hey," Ryan says, frowning in the direction of Spencer's bed, but Spencer remains angelically quiet. 

"Ryan," Brendon stage whispers. "Follow the sound of my voice, you'll find me."

"Good grief," Ryan mutters. He takes his shirt off before he can think about it further, and walks blindly toward the bed, finally colliding with it, overbalancing, and then tumbling spectacularly forward and landing half on top of Brendon. 

"Okay," Brendon says, "you found me."

"Urgh," says Ryan, levering himself up. He gets under the covers as carefully and quickly as he can, and then buries his face in the pillow, hoping it will swallow him up. He's had his moments with girls, but something about this Brendon thing makes him feel even more stupid and clumsy than usual. At least with girls he knows what to do, knows they want to be touched a certain way, talked to a certain way - at least he thinks he knows. He doesn't have any idea what Brendon wants, not that it matters. He just wishes he didn't want Brendon to touch him so much. Even with his back to Brendon he can feel the heat of Brendon's body, and the knowledge of him there in nothing but his boxers makes Ryan feel even more ridiculous than usual. It's one thing to want to touch a girl, that he knows all about, but he's never wanted someone to touch _him_ the way he wants Brendon to touch him.

Ryan breathes in deep, trying not to think about it, trying not to feel Brendon there.

It doesn't work.

*

Ryan wakes to pre-dawn light streaming through the tiniest crack in the curtains, bisecting the bed where Spencer's sleeping, his face pale and quiet. That sight is what makes Ryan come to full awareness of where he is, and who he's, well - under.

He takes in a shuddering breath, and Brendon shifts minutely on top of him, where he's half-draped over Ryan's back, warm and heavy, his face pressed to the back of Ryan's neck. Brendon's hand rests atop his wrist, and it feels like every part of him is surrounded by Brendon, and it's as crushingly terrifying as it is terrifyingly perfect. He feels like a kid again, like he's never been kissed and never been touched and everything is new and thrilling and awful and wonderful, and it's Brendon, Brendon, Brendon everywhere. He keeps his eyes tightly shut as his hips push helplessly against the mattress, delicious pressure as he hardens in his boxers. It's so wrong and he knows it's wrong, knows that Brendon is probably dreaming of someone else, that he's just cuddling unconsciously in his sleep and it's not about Ryan at all. 

Thinking so doesn't do anything about his erection. He should get out from under Brendon, push him away and stop letting him feel this, but he isn't. He isn't, and he doesn't even want to, not really.

The slight movement of Ryan's hips makes Brendon stir, exhaling heavily against Ryan's throat, nuzzling a little in his sleep as he adjusts, and it's simultaneously the worst and best thing Ryan's ever felt when Brendon's cock starts to harden against his ass.

Ryan's jerked off to thoughts of Brendon before, of course he has - hell, he's jerked off to thoughts of Pete, and to thoughts of that hot senior guy that helped him find his classes first day of freshman year. It's not like Brendon's the first guy he's ever wanted, so it wasn't new or groundbreaking when he thought about Brendon that way, thought about Brendon kissing him, sucking him. He'd thought about fucking Brendon more than once, how his cock would look sinking into Brendon's ass, the way Brendon would look as he took it, the noises he would make.

It was rare, though, that he'd really think about being fucked, usually only fleeting images right before he came, like Brendon above him, holding his wrists to the bed and slamming in and coming inside him, Brendon holding him close after.

He's thinking about it now, though, he can't help it. Brendon's fully hard, Ryan can feel it through their boxers, the shape and length of Brendon's cock pressed against his ass, and it feels good, he wants to touch it, wants Brendon to touch him. He presses his forehead to the pillow and tries not to move, but Brendon's starting to wake, he can feel it in the way that Brendon shifts against him, how his breath is speeding up by degrees, how he's starting to thrust minutely against Ryan's ass. 

Brendon mumbles against his neck, something Ryan wants to imagine is his name, and the length of his cock is pressed between Ryan's cheeks now, fitting into the groove there like that's where it belongs. Ryan can't stop himself from rubbing back against it, back against Brendon's cock and forward to rub against the mattress. When Brendon's lips move against the back of his neck, close to kisses, Ryan gets hot all over, his whole body flushed with heat as Brendon starts to thrust, and then wakes up.

"Ryan," he murmurs, and in that moment Ryan lets himself believe that he hears nothing but want in Brendon's voice, and he whispers Brendon's name back to him.

Brendon's hand tenses on Ryan's wrist, and Ryan curls his fingers and says as softly as he can, "Don't stop."

A deliriously horrible second passes before Brendon groans quietly against him and starts to move again, kissing the back of Ryan's neck for real this time, teeth scraping over the top bone of Ryan's spine, so good that Ryan has to swallow back the whimpers that want to escape his throat. Brendon's thrusting harder now, grinding his cock against Ryan's ass, and Ryan bites his lip and thrusts back as best he can with Brendon on top of him. He flexes his fingers into a fist until Brendon gets the hint and releases his wrist, and then Ryan reaches down between them and recklessly pushes at his own boxers until Brendon lifts up, letting Ryan shove them down to the tops of his thighs, baring his ass before going for Brendon's boxers too.

Brendon makes a desperate sound against Ryan's hair, squirming as Ryan gets Brendon's boxers down too, getting them naked for each other. Ryan muffles his whimper in the pillow when Brendon's bare cock slides between the cheeks of his ass, hot friction against his hole, and fuck, Brendon could do anything to him, Brendon could push right in and take him and fuck him. Ryan tenses at the thought of it, gasping, but Brendon just presses his forehead to the back of Ryan's neck and thrusts frantically against him, pressing Ryan down into the mattress as Ryan ruts back against him.

Their movements are furious but quiet with Spencer asleep in the bed across from them, and Ryan wants to moan loudly enough to be heard through the walls but he'd never live it down. He almost lets go, though, when Brendon licks the back of his neck and reaches down for Ryan's cock, just barely getting his fingers around it before Ryan buries his face in the pillow and comes so hard it hurts.

Brendon gasps against him, thrusting hard and fast against Ryan's ass, starting to tremble, and then the head of his cock catches on Ryan's hole, pushing up against it without breaching him, and Brendon goes still and starts to come. In Ryan's ass.

Ryan can feel each hot spurt of come inside him as Brendon jerks against him. It's strange and new and so intensely hot that Ryan's dick aches between his legs, trying to twitch back to life as he pushes back into it as much as he dares. The head of Brendon's dick rubs and pushes against Ryan's hole, slicking it up, and Ryan knows that if he just relaxed a little more, he could let Brendon in, let Brendon inside him. Brendon's movements slow, and Ryan doesn't know if he's grateful or not that the opportunity's passed.

Brendon exhales unsteadily and lets himself rest on Ryan's back again. Ryan lays beneath him, feeling Brendon's sweat and his own, feeling his heart slow back to normal, and that almost makes him laugh, the thought of anything going back to normal after this. Brendon just came in his ass. Hysteria bubbles up in Ryan's chest and he tries to will it away.

Brendon must feel him shaking, because when he rolls off of Ryan, he doesn't go far. Ryan's so pathetically grateful for the warmth of Brendon's hand against his shoulder that he could cry, but instead he just curls up, making himself as small as possible until Brendon shuffles closer still and rests his hand over Ryan's ribcage, pulling Ryan in so he's not stuck in the wet spot on the sheets. 

"Ry," Brendon whispers, but Ryan closes his eyes and pretends he's already fallen back to sleep.

*

Spencer wakes him with a hand on the shoulder and an announcement of, "Dude, continental breakfast." He thinks _ooh, breakfast_ , followed immediately by _FUCK FUCK FUCK_. 

What he says is, "I hope there's a waffle maker." He wriggles under the sheets. Brendon must have tugged his boxers back up for him at some point. Ryan appreciates the courtesy, and wants to die.

"One way to find out," Spencer says. "Get up."

"Or you could go find out and come back and tell me," Ryan says hopefully, then rolls away from the swat Spencer aims at him.

Brendon comes out of the bathroom, dressed and drying his hair, and Ryan goes still. They stare at each other, and Spencer looks back and forth between them, then rolls his eyes. "I'm going to get breakfast," Spencer says. "You guys do whatever."

"Breakfast," Ryan exclaims, and rolls out of bed, "is the most important meal of the day." Spencer snorts.

"Agreed," Brendon says, and goes to get his shoes on. "Spencer, let's eat all the waffles before Ryan gets there."

*

Ryan focuses intensely on his waffles and Brendon chatters to Brent about nothing over breakfast before claiming Matt as his front seat buddy and taking the wheel. Ryan reads his battered copy of Fight Club in the very back seat as Spencer and Brent declare round thirty of a thumb war. Brent tries to get him to play, and Ryan says he's a pacifist. 

_I am Jack's sense of denial_ , Ryan thinks, and turns a page.

*

Since Brendon took the morning shift, he declares that he gets to decide where they stop for lunch. He chooses what might be the most sincerely diner-like diner Ryan has ever seen. It's like a movie set. The booths are red vinyl. There is a jukebox. Brendon flirts outrageously with the waitress, who looks about forty year old with frizzy red hair and fake nails. Her name is Patsy. Brendon orders a tower of onion rings and a tall glass of apple juice, and when he smiles, Ryan's heart hurts. 

Ryan excuses himself to the restroom. He half expects Brendon to follow him, but Brendon doesn't.

*

When it's Spencer's turn to drive, Ryan joins him in the passenger seat. After awhile, Spencer gets a crick in his neck and starts massaging it with his hand. Ryan thinks of reaching over and helping, but he doesn't, because he's not dating Spencer. He tries to think like Brendon. It's like hitting a wall. 

"There's really nothing here," Ryan says, staring out the windshield. The land passes by, flat and dull in between small towns, and Brendon's in the backseat of the van, fiddling with his Sidekick and staring at the same land and last night Ryan wanted him so much and today he still does. His fingertips itch to push against Brendon's skin and tangle in Brendon's hair, and he digs his teeth into his lower lip and wishes he could do the same to Brendon. He wants to kiss Brendon until they're both breathless. He wants leave something of himself in Brendon. Thinking about last night makes him feel hot and needy and stupid and desperate and like throwing himself at Brendon again, baring himself and asking for it. If that's all they can have, all Brendon wants from him, clumsy fumblings when no one's watching, then Ryan will take that. He will. It's something.

"There's stuff," Spencer says. "It's just not stuff that interests you."

"Nothing matters unless Ryan finds it interesting," Brendon says from the backseat.

Ryan turns back to look at him, surprised he was listening. Brendon raises an eyebrow, challenging his gaze. 

Spencer cuts his eyes to Ryan, looking for his reaction. Ryan doesn't have one, so he turns back around and glares out the window instead. 

"I think farms are cool," says Brent.

*

"Can Ryan and I get a single?" Brendon asks when they pull up to that night's motel. "We want to work on some lyrics."

"Sure," Matt says. "You guys gonna share a bed?"

"Might as well," Brendon says carelessly. He looks at neither Ryan nor Spencer, who are both staring at him. Brent is staring at his Sidekick.

Brendon finally looks back at Ryan, but Ryan finds he doesn't have a whole lot to say. By the time they reach their room, Ryan's shored up for a long talk about how what they did was horrible and Ryan took advantage of Brendon's sleepiness and Brendon doesn't like Ryan that way and they're never going to do it again. 

Instead, they get in the room and Brendon starts getting undressed.

"Um," Ryan says. Brendon undoes his belt. "So," he continues uncertainly. Brendon takes his pants off. "We should talk?" He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but it does anyway. Brendon hooks his fingers into the top of his boxers, then looks at Ryan.

"Should we?" Brendon asks. He leaves his boxers on, but walks toward Ryan. Ryan resists backing up, but only barely. "You didn't want to talk this morning."

Ryan opens his mouth to say something. Brendon touches his waist, rucks his shirt up, up, up until Ryan lifts his arms and gets it off. When Ryan realizes that Brendon's hard in his boxers, he can't really look anywhere else. "Brendon," he says helplessly. Brendon's hands are back at his waist, tugging at the button of his pants, his knuckles brushing the ridge of Ryan's hardening cock as he undoes the zipper. Ryan toes his shoes off, and lets his pants fall to his ankles. Brendon pulls him toward the bed, and Ryan steps out of his pants and follows him, and something in the line of Brendon's shoulders makes Ryan tense up. There's something off, Brendon's all bravado sometimes but it's never rang false like this before.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Brendon asks, climbing onto the bed. "Is that what you wanted this morning?"

Ryan's cock twitches at his words, the boldness of them. He had wanted it - he'd been afraid of it, but wanted it, and hearing Brendon say it like that, it makes Ryan want it again, want Brendon holding him down with his weight, pressing him to the mattress and thrusting his cock all the way in this time, pushing in and fucking him deep. He feels a flush steal over his cheeks at the thought of it. 

"Maybe I want to fuck you," Ryan says anyway. "Would you let me?"

Brendon inhales. "I don't know."

"What if I wanted to kiss you?" Ryan asks, his voice softer than before.

"Ryan," Brendon says, and his voice cracks just a little, just enough for Ryan to know he's struck a nerve. "What the fuck is going on?"

Ryan's about to say that he doesn't know, but then he realizes that he does, that what he wants is nothing more than to feel Brendon in his arms. "This," he says, feeling weak and strong and stupid and wild, pulling Brendon close, pulling him onto the bed, and Brendon's letting him, he's letting him. "This, I want this, just you, alright?"

"This whole time I thought you didn't like me back," Brendon says into his neck, leaving kisses there in between words like he can't bear not to kiss Ryan wherever he can.

"It's only been a day," Ryan says, revelling in it anyway, in knowing that Brendon feels something, anything, that Ryan's meant something to him too. 

"Ryan," Brendon says. "It's been more than a year," he says, and Ryan's heart beats fast in his chest, and he tangles his hands in Brendon's hair and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.


End file.
